


odd how my eyes never find you

by spacehopper



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: False Identity, Identity Issues, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-13
Updated: 2018-07-13
Packaged: 2019-06-08 01:37:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15232509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacehopper/pseuds/spacehopper
Summary: Jon is charming and handsome and charismatic, and he only has eyes for Martin.





	odd how my eyes never find you

**Author's Note:**

> Expanded version of a fill I did for the kink meme. Original prompt here:
> 
> <https://rusty-kink.dreamwidth.org/1380.html?thread=2404#cmt2404>

Silence reigned in the Archives ever since Sasha had vanished. She’d never been loud, but she’d brought a certain calm cheer, a welcome relief when Tim and Jon got out of hand. In the weeks since they’d last seen her, Tim had become even more distant, sharp words impaling Martin’s every attempt at good humor. But he didn’t really mind. He wasn’t Sasha, after all. And it dug at the hollowness in his chest, distracted him from worry.

“Hey Martin, you want to get lunch?” A woman poked her head through the door, curly hair in disarray. 

Not Sasha, like it would’ve been a few weeks back, or even Tim. Just Jenny from Artefact Storage. He’d always liked her, and they’d used to eat together sometimes, before he’d transferred down here. She was nice. But it wasn’t the same, since he’d joined the Archives. There was a certain distance, a wariness. Like they knew there was something wrong, but were desperately trying to not know what. Martin couldn’t really blame them.

“Thanks, but I have work to do.”

“Still waiting for him?” The eyebrow she raised was knowing, the smile sympathetic. Martin flushed, and sunk a bit lower in his chair.

“I just want to make sure everything is in order,” he said, straightening a stack of papers to emphasize his point. As he tugged a crumpled statement free, the whole stack tumbled off the desk, scattering onto the floor. Martin sighed, and knelt down to gather them, blocking his view of the door.

“Good luck with that,” Jenny said. “And don’t let him push you around.” 

When Martin stood, slightly worse for wear papers clutched against his chest, Jenny was gone. But that was fine. He wanted to wait anyway. So he sat back at his desk and began to go through the papers. 

The police had taken Jon, after finding the old man dead. He hadn’t tried to run, or even protest, just used that disarming charm that always made Martin’s heart flutter, and went along with them. Before he left, he’d rested his hand on Martin’s arm, fingers lingering on his wrist, and said they’d talk when he returned. And he would return. No one had any reason to suspect a man like Jon of anything.

Martin least of all.

Statements, notes, a strange, spidery drawing, all sorted. He turned back to what he’d been working on earlier. Dark, erratic scribbles marred line after line of his attempts, but he had to keep trying, had to get it just right.

_Odd how my eyes never find you._  
Stranger still how your skin,  
Softer than a baby’s breath,  
Slips over mine like a glove. 

It was utter tripe. Martin lifted his pen to scratch it out again, but before he could, the paper was snatched out from under him, the pen scoring a jagged line through the words, but not covering them.

“What’s this?” Jon peered down at the paper with that funny little smile that always made Martin’s stomach roil. He pressed his lips together, trying to hold it back.

“Well, it’s just—well, you know, I write a bit of poetry, and—” Martin made a vain attempt to grab the paper back, but Jon danced out of his reach, ever graceful. A lock of golden hair fell into his eyes, and Martin itched to reach out and touch it. It was so perfect, sometimes he wasn’t sure if it could be real.

“This is lovely, Martin.” He set the paper back on Martin’s desk, and Martin shivered. “Is it about me?”

“I—I mean.” The words stuck in Martin’s throat, and he tried to swallow them back down. Jon was smiling. That couldn’t be bad. “Yes, it is.”

Jon’s smile widened, and Martin froze in place, terror shooting through him. What would Jon do now, that’d he’d pretty much confessed he fancied him? It wasn’t right, was it, to fancy your boss. And Jon was a good man, he’d never take advantage. Even if Martin wanted him so much he ached.

But Jon just gave him a conspiratorial wink. He’d always been a bit of a flirt, but had never turned it on Martin before. The sick feeling was back in full force as Jon conspicuously scanned the room. They were alone, so alone. Martin wrapped his fingers around the edge of the desk as Jon walked around it to stand behind him, placing a clammy hand on the side of his neck.

“Don’t tell Elias,” Jon whispered into his ear, then bit down lightly on his earlobe. Martin actually squeaked, and then winced. But Jon only laughed softly, rotating him so they were facing each other. His eyes were glassy, probably from lack of sleep. But it didn’t matter. Martin wanted nothing more than to stare into those eyes forever, in the hopes that someday, Jon would look back.

But Jon’s eyes disappeared from view as he leaned in, waxy lips brushing against Martin’s, hand tightening on his neck. His mouth was dry, opening willingly as Martin pressed his tongue against those lips. He swiped his tongue over Jon’s, and tasted chemicals and cloves. It must be left over from the police station, some test they’d done, or maybe something Jon had eaten. 

Martin jumped as a too cold hand slipped under his shirt, fingernails carving into his back. He hoped it left a mark. He wanted to remember this, to have proof this wasn’t just another stupid daydream. That Jon was really here, hand moving lower now, cupping Martin’s arse and grinding their bodies together, Martin’s soft and Jon’s hard and stretched.

“Jon,” Martin said, his voice far too high. Jon’s hand slid below his waistband, raising goosebumps on his skin. So confident, suave, like he should be an actor, a performer, a dancer. Not the Archivist. He pressed Martin back against the desk, and his mouth was stuffed, filled to the brim with Jon. When he finally broke the kiss, Martin’s breath was coming too fast. And Jon didn’t seem to be breathing at all. 

“Later,” Jon murmured. Martin shut his eyes, and felt Jon pull away, like he’d never been there at all. Martin didn’t look until the door shut behind him.

Strange, how Martin couldn’t bear to watch him leave.


End file.
